


That's ok

by Fionir



Category: One Piece
Genre: Gender-neutral narrator, Memories, One-Sided Attraction, Other, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 04:23:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18045416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fionir/pseuds/Fionir
Summary: Back when I found him he was close to death. The blood stuck to him like a second skin and the wounds had not stopped bleeding yet. I didn’t know his name, when I found him… If I had known who he was, maybe I wouldn’t have had the courage to stand in his way… but I did.Inspired by That's ok by The Hush Sound(no character tags cause that would spoil the fun)





	That's ok

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [That's ok](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/462635) by Aduial. 



> Inspired by: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bibKaYWMfiE

Back when I found him he was close to death. The blood stuck to him like a second skin and the wounds had not stopped bleeding yet. Not all of it was his… That would have killed even him. He dragged himself on, feverish and swaying with every step, but he did not give up. One step at a time he slowly moved forward, so slow a snail could have raced him. He would have walked to the end of the world like that… but I stopped him.

I put him in my bed and treated his wounds. I cleaned them and I made him take meds to help with the fever and then he slept… slept for days. Whenever he opened his eyes, I brought him water. He didn’t talk. At first I thought he might be mute… His eyes followed me wary… And in the next moment he could be asleep again.  
I didn’t know his name, when I found him… If I had known who he was, maybe I wouldn’t have had the courage to stand in his way… but I did. His wounds began to heal, the fever stayed. I tried everything, but nothing I gave him would lower his temperature. Weeks passed. One time, he opened his mouth as if to talk to me, but when our eyes met he closed it again. He kept silent. I did too.  
He could stand again… His wounds looked fine… He looked fine…  
But the fever stayed.

Three weeks… the wounds were closing. I was running out of medicine. He looked at me like he was seeing ghosts.  
He helped me fix the roof. He still didn’t talk; sometimes I talked to him, to not forget what my own voice sounded like. In the evenings I changed his bandages; sometimes I hummed or I told him stories. Sometimes he was awake and listened, others he just slept.  
One time, I had been talking for hours, he grabbed my arm and closed his eyes. I nodded.  
Four weeks… I had barely left the house since I found him. I still had no idea who he was. I regretted living so far away from the world, not in the city… far away from most people. Maybe that’s why he stayed.  
I saw it in his eyes: He couldn’t quite make sense of the quiet and the peace… it fascinated him. Maybe he needed a little of it for the battle he would have to fight… even back then I suspected him to be more, than my memory would tell me.  
What I didn’t notice was how I slowly fell in love.  
With the sectrets, with the silence… with a stranger.  
The fever stayed.  
  
End of the fourth week. I was crying in the window, when he stepped up to me, putting a warm and calming hand onto my shoulder. I flinched. He sat down beside me. “I don’t know how to treat you fever”, I said. I was sobbing. “It’s just not getting…”  
He shook his head.  
In an unfamillarly confiding gesture he pulled me into a hug. He was warm. I didn’t struggle. I let him. I closed my eyes.  
And Fell asleep.

He carried me to the bed and tucked me in. He sat beside me, like I had done for him so many nights. I didn’t wake… not instantly. He began to tell a story. Of being alone, of rage and dreams, of his brothers, loss, adventure, hatred and revenge, of failure and finding… treason and punishment, fighting and pursuit…  
I was half awake, when I heard that strange voice talking for the first time. I had dreamed strange things and what it said to me fit their tale like they told the same story. Like somehow I had heard every word of it.  
“… I lost. And I’m not sure if I will ever be able to beat him. He’s growing stronger, who knows how strong… But he threatens everything. It’s people like him, that… I can’t stop now… I can’t let him get away like that…”  
I didn’t let show that I was awake… I let him talk.  
“I’ll have to go and find him. I won’t come back. I don’t know if I’ll ever see my brothers… my little brother ever again. I don’t know where this path is taking me… but I have a feeling… that in the end, I’ll have my answers.”  
He fell silent for a while. There were so many emotions in his voice; maybe I just imagined it… maybe it was the past weeks of silence making me imagine… I had gotten to know him without words and now his words brought tears to my eyes. I don’t think he noticed…  
I thought about the crooked smile, the silent jokes, the sudden sleeping… the unintentional and the deliberate humor… his twitching at night, his restless eyes, the never ending wonder in his gaze… the unbend will to move on…  
“Thank you for everything.”  
He rose and took his hat off the nail in the wall. He walked to the door. I rose and looked after him, the bed rustled. He looked over his shoulder and smiled… sad, encouraging, proud, determined… I clasped my hands over my mouth, as the tears came over me again. He closed the door.

I never saw him again.  
Months passed.  
I moved to the city. Living alone felt bleak. I thought about him a lot.  
I read the newspaper.  
Then I saw the picture.  
The blood.  
  
He was smiling…  
And I cried.  
I know his name now.  
Portgas D. Ace

**Author's Note:**

> Actually I wrote the song listening to this Nightcore version of the song:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TIwcOrC9IOI
> 
> Mostly because I can't write to slow music.


End file.
